


Last Night

by clear_sight



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, The Avengers (2012), Torchwood
Genre: Clint is right that the safest place is the rafters., Dean's big mouth is going to get him killed., F/M, Humor, M/M, Massive Crossover, Never hold drinking contests with Norse deities., This is set in the Avengers-verse.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear_sight/pseuds/clear_sight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean had been raised on not-normal.  John had long ago accepted the fact that life with Sherlock would never be normal.  Ianto had practically signed up for not-normal the day he first set foot in Torchwood London and he'd abandoned normal altogether when he'd met Jack.  Donna had turned her back on normal the day she decided to find the Doctor.  But superheroes were something none of them had ever really figured on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Avengers, Assemble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orizuru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orizuru/gifts).



> Ok, so this is what happens when I'm allowed on the internet. I stumbled across a youtube video someone had posted to tumblr with a fake trailer for a movie called "Earth's Mightiest Heroes." And then this happened. Really, though, go look that up because it's fabulous. Anyway, you see a lot of SuperWhoTorchAvengeLock (or some segment thereof) and I really did like the idea of "let's just toss them all on a boat." Because I am a sucker for character driven stories. So this isn't a mission fic. This is a "lock a group of ridiculous people with superpowers in a room together and watch the chaos unfold" fic.  
> Also, I'm attempting to write humor, someone should probably send a rescue party. I normally write angst. I am the Midas of angst. Every fic I touch turns to angst. And while I swear this will not turn into an angst fic, it may have angsty bits to balance out the sugar-high crack-bunnies. Because some of the characters have canon angst and also I don't know that I can keep up straight comedy for that long.  
> The rating is because I pretty much never rate things less than T, but we've got Tony Stark, Jack Harkness, and some Norse gods, so it might get bumped up to M because things are libel to get a little... mature. I tend to rate on the safe side.  
> This is gifted to the lovely JahLoveAngel for putting up with my talking about this plot-rabbit farm for the last month and for helping me edit this monstrosity (my preliminary editing was done at 3am...). And for encouraging this, which was originally just a fleeting "wouldn't that be hilarious?"  
> It goes without saying, really, but I own none of these franchises. Or else this would have happened by now.

Daylight was streaming in through the huge windows as John Watson slowly woke up. He blinked quietly a few times, taking in his throbbing headache and the various other people scattered around the room, all in various states of dishevelment. What the hell happened here? First things first. Dry mouth, headache, photosensitivity, memory lapse… hangover. Second thing, where was Sherlock? He scanned the room hastily before spotting the tall man curled up in the corner next to the man in the ridiculous pinstripe suit. Alright. Now where in god’s name were they?

  
Oh. Oh. That’s right. Karaoke night. Tony’s brilliant idea for group bonding in their off time. It was all coming back to him now. God, he needed a drink…

 

*******************************  
Two Months Earlier:

When all was said and done, the orders to round up the Avengers and gather them back together hadn’t been as difficult as Agent Phil Coulson had anticipated. The most difficult had been Thor, that particular contact requiring a bit of ingenuity on Jane’s part. Jane didn’t tell and Phil didn’t ask. She was close to the god and on good terms with S.H.I.E.L.D., and that was good enough.

  
As to the others, Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner could often be found in the same place these days. The home of one Tony Stark. Admittedly, Steve spent far more of his time there than Bruce, but Bruce would often vanish for weeks at a time into the remote, backwoods wilderness of Godforsakenstan or some such place and Phil couldn’t be bothered to track him down. He was a doctor. He went there to doctor. Much to some of the higher-ups’ dismay, Phil saw nothing wrong with allowing the man to find a purpose for himself outside of being a terrifying, green rage monster at the military’s beck and call.

  
Steve, by contrast, seemed to view Stark Tower as a refuge from the world. He was confused, and sometimes a bit depressed and frightened, by the twenty first century. Tony had always been very fond of his gadgetry, but when he had seen how bothered Steve was by the pervasiveness of the technology around him, he had stripped Steve’s suite of everything beyond a radio, a basic desktop computer, and the intercom system which granted access to JARVIS. He had insisted on the computer and Steve’s cell phone because he was determined to get the man at least partially up to speed, but this really was what he had offered all of the Avengers after the great battle. A place to call home. Somewhere they could stay without worry, that they could make their own, and where they could be comfortable. And to some extent, each of them had taken him up on the offer. But Bruce and Steve were by far the most present.

  
Perhaps the most truly challenging, however, had been Hawkeye and Black Widow. Clint and Natasha were not Steve, the good soldier. They were not Bruce, who seemed ever determined to avoid a fight. They were not Tony, who was always willing to show off. They were not even Thor, willing to come when called merely for the sake of being helpful. They had their own priorities and their own agenda. And having been S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, they knew how to play the system and exactly how much play they could give. These were the things that set spies and assassins apart from other superheroes, Phil reasoned. When finally he had tracked them down with a reason and motivation they would accept, they were in Budapest. They had hit a lull in their work, and that seemed to be their main motivator. The world could wait when they had their own to do lists. Then again, they knew there were four other perfectly capable sets of hands poised to handle the matter.

  
And of course the six of them made up the Avengers. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor, Natasha, and Clint. Except that they didn’t. Not anymore – a fact Phil had shared with no one except the one person who needed to know.

 

*******************************  
Six Weeks Later:

They had been on their way to Alpha Centauri when the call came. Donna had been a bit skeptical, but the Doctor seemed to know the man – Fury, he said his name was – and that was good enough. Something about an urgent matter, something that required a Doctor. Fate of the universe level chaos. Donna had merely huffed a sigh at that. Typical. Entirely typical. It was like U.N.I.T. all over again. Everything with the Doctor somehow seemed to end with the fate of the universe hanging in the balance. She didn’t understand how one man managed to get himself involved in so much chaos.

 

*****

Jack woke to the tell-tale vroosh-vroosh of the T.A.R.D.I.S.’s systems in the operations center. Quickly, he roused Ianto and bolted from bed. Hastily tugging his trousers on, he grabbed his military issue rucksack, the one he always kept packed for occasions such as this. As Ianto stumbled around getting dressed, Jack added his things to the pack. It wasn’t strictly necessary as the Doctor would be able to provide them with clothes, but he knew how attached Ianto was to his routine and his surroundings. And since Jack had no idea where they might end up, the least he could do was grab Ianto some of his own clothes. After all, the most traveling Ianto had done was from Cardiff to Tibet. Once.

  
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jack battle-ready and Ianto made presentable in record time thanks in part to Jack’s long military history, the Doctor was leaning against the door to the T.A.R.D.I.S., that knowing smirk plastered all over face. He had new a companion, too, who stood staring up at the pterodactyl circling the ceiling.

  
“Yeah, I’ll have to leave Gwen and Rhys a note to feed her,” Jack said from the stairway, humor in his voice. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he greeted with a coy smile and a firm handshake. “And if I may inquire to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  
“Donna Nobel,” answered Donna. “A captain? What sort of captain?”

  
“Oh, don’t start,” the Doctor ribbed. “Either of you."

  
“You’re who we’re here to get, then?” An appreciative gaze swept over first Jack, then Ianto.

  
The Welshman cleared his throat, shifting slightly and gesturing up at the giant reptile overhead. “She’s called Myfanwy. She’s a pteranodon. And you may want to mention to Gwen in that note where it is we’re off to, sir. She might just kill you if you disappear again.”

  
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said, holding out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  
“Ianto Jones.” The handshake Ianto offered was tentative and Jack reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, a gesture the Doctor seemed to take great interest in much to Ianto’s discomfort. “Transplant from Torchwood London.”

  
“Welcome to the team, Ianto Jones,” the Doctor smiled brilliantly. “Now, then. We were on our way to Alpha Centauri –”

  
“Were you really?” Jack broke in with a grin. “Hell of a planet. Went to a party there once. Don’t remember half of it…”

  
“We’ve gotten an urgent call from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” the Doctor continued as though Jack had said nothing.

  
“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Ianto asked. Jack, meanwhile, had gone from jovial to deadly serious in no time flat.

  
“I’ll explain on the way,” he told his partner. “Let’s go.”

 

*******************************

Sam could smell trouble from a mile away. He had to be able to, since his brother seemed to walk them straight into it at every turn. And the man in the suit approaching their table in the shabby little diner was definitely trouble. He looked like he had walked straight out of Men in Black. And worse, he was staring right at them.

  
“Dean,” Sam whispered. “We need to go. Now. Right now. Don’t turn around, just trust me. Come on.”  
Not quick enough. The man moved to stand at the entrance of their booth. He was nearly half a foot shorter than either of them, but despite his small stature he exuded confidence. He was definitely imposing. And definitely a threat.

  
“Sam, Dean,” greeted the man. “My name is Agent Phil Coulson. Perhaps we could take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Feds. Shit. They were screwed. Sam began running through a mental list of necessary preparations should they be taken into custody. They needed to find a way to contact Bobby. That was priority number one. Get the Impala towed pronto before anyone could search it. It didn’t take a genius to find the hidden compartment in the trunk and there were about twenty different varieties of incriminating stashed away in there. “I think we’d prefer to stay here, thanks,” Sam replied much more calmly than he felt.

  
“Don’t worry,” the man called Agent Coulson assured. “I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to ask for your help.”

  
“Our _help_ ,” Dean replied incredulously. Stranger things had happened, but not often.

  
“Yes,” the man in black confirmed calmly. “In fact, if you’ll help us, I can make all the red in your ledger go away.”

  
“Yeah, and what makes me believe that?” Dean scoffed. “And what would the feds ever want our help with?”

  
“This is beyond the feds,” the man said. “We’re on the brink of war with the Chitauri and a legion of scorned angels. You boys are renowned hunters. We need you.”

  
“No,” Dean said firmly, moving to stand.

  
Sam grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back down. There was something about the small man that seemed utterly sincere. Quietly he pulled a flask from his pocket and unscrewed the cap, splashing the liquid inside onto the agent.

  
“And no,” the man replied, picking up a napkin and wiping his face. “I’m not a demon.”

  
“So wait,” Sam began hesitantly. “You know about the police records?” Coulson nodded, brushing water from his lapels. “And the fact that we’re both supposed to be dead?” Another nod. “And you can fix all of that?”

  
Agent Coulson slid into the booth next to Dean and folded his hands in front of him, giving the brothers a small smile. “Boys, my organization operates above the law and beyond the government. I tell the feds ‘jump’, they ask me ‘how high?’ Especially after the last debacle when they didn’t listen to us. If I tell you I can clear your records, your police records and your death records, I can do it. Sam, I’ll bet I could even get you into law school if you still wanted to go.”

  
“Alright,” Sam relented after a long moment of tense silence, glancing quickly to Dean for confirmation. The minute nod was all the more agreement he needed from his brother. “If you can clear our records, we’ll do it.”

 

*******************************

They had been running down an alleyway after a murderer when the tall man had stepped in front of them. Big, imposing, an eye patch covering one eye, costumed like a superhero gone wrong. Sherlock had made to weave around him after he had told them to stop and the man had clotheslined him like it was nothing, laid him out flat when he was running full tilt. The detective hadn’t been happy.

  
At first Sherlock had been absolutely convinced that the man, Sergeant Fury he had called himself, was one of Mycroft’s. However, when he had identified himself as a representative of S.H.I.E.L.D., Sherlock had scoffed. Clearly, John had missed something.

  
“That’s impossible,” Sherlock had told the man dismissively. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has been disbanded.”

  
“I assure you, Mr. Holmes, it has not,” the man returned, his tone brooking no argument. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is alive and well and has revived the Avengers initiative.”

  
Sherlock eyed the man suspiciously. John, meanwhile, was completely lost. Perhaps not completely. Sergeant. _Sergeant_ Fury. This S.H.I.E.L.D., whatever it was, was military or paramilitary. He could work with that. “Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers,” John introduced himself with a salute. Respect, he had found, could open many doors. A concept that seemed entirely lost on Sherlock. “If you wouldn’t mind explaining, Sergeant, what exactly is S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

  
“I know who you are, Dr. Watson,” the man replied. “Your presence has been specifically requested as well. Your unique skill set is just as valuable to us as Mr. Holmes’. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be explained to you in a briefing when we reach the base. Suffice it say we are a military organization beyond the scope of any one national government. We are who the world calls on when it is in danger.”

  
“And what’s the case?” Sherlock interjected.

  
“The Chitauri, the alien race Loki aligned himself with in the last great battle, are threatening an invasion. But this time they’ve got a flock of angels on their side,” the man explained. “We’re reopening the Avengers initiative in order to combat that threat.”

  
Sherlock stopped for a moment as though considering this. “Interesting… Very well. We’ll be there.”

  
“Good,” the man smiled, though it lacked any real warmth. “My agents are at your flat right now packing your things.”

  
John did not miss the way Sherlock’s tight-lipped smile oozed irritation at that idea, if only one knew how to read the enigmatic man’s expressions.


	2. The Lodgers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first two sets of new teammates arrive at the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. If you're just today coming across this story you're probably fine. If you read this any time before today, you'll need to reread chapter one. Honestly, not too much changed action-wise. But there've been cast changes. I wasn't happy with the old cast and the feel of the story. So I fixed it.
> 
> That aside, yes. I know I only got through two sets of characters. This was getting long on me. And I haven't posted in roughly forever and I didn't want to put off posting this part to get the briefing straightened out. Hopefully that'll be up by the end of the month. I've been bouncing around between projects quite a bit and not really getting anything done. But it shouldn't be another eleven months and a total overhaul of the plot and cast before the next chapter...

Steve was uncharacteristically quiet as he stared out at the sunset over the new Manhattan skyline.  He still hadn’t quite gotten used to that, even though it had been more than a year since S.H.I.E.L.D. had pulled him from the wreck in the artic.  Everything looked so different than he remembered.  He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Bruce come in, quiet as always, and startled when the smaller man set a hand on his shoulder.  But the doctor just smiled knowingly, used to reading Steve’s moods by now.  Not that Steve wasn’t an open book to most people.  Tony had told him that enough times. Kept saying it’d get them all killed some day.

“Worried about the new recruits, or just worried?”  Somehow Bruce always knew the right question to put Steve at ease.

Steve sighed and leaned a bit against Bruce’s hand.  “I don’t think this is a good idea.  We took them out before, we can do it again.  These guys aren’t like us.  They don’t have our background.”

“The situation’s changed,” Bruce pointed out.  “We need help.  Besides, I don’t know what background you’re referring to.  We’re a ragtag band of merry misfits if there ever was one.  Tony’s researched them.  Phil trusts them.  We’ll be fine, Captain.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question.  “Come on, let’s go drag Tony out of the lab so that maybe he’ll be presentable by the time they get here.  It’s technically his tower, after all.  And you know the sort of impression he usually makes on guests.”

Bruce just chuckled, undoubtedly recalling the incident with the cellist.  The hand on Steve’s shoulder slipped away, but Bruce kept close as he led the way through the labyrinth that was Stark Tower to where Tony would be working today and Steve was admittedly glad for it.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it was the Winchester brothers who were the first of the new recruits to arrive at the tower.  They were in Boston at the time, a relatively short drive from Manhattan.  Sherlock and John would not arrive for several more hours.  And when Phil had radioed the Director to ask for the Doctor’s estimated time of arrival, Fury had replied that, “A Time Lord always arrives precisely when he means to.”  To which Coulson had sighed and replied, “I’ll take that to mean you have no idea, sir,” before disconnecting.  So the Doctor could really arrive at any time with Donna, Jack, and Ianto.

Coulson had personally escorted the Winchester brothers to the tower.  A bit too personally for Dean’s liking.  Both of them were unhappy about the escort of S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles leading and following at a discrete yet still threatening distance.  But Dean was outright furious about Coulson planting himself in the backseat and refusing to budge.  Even threats of violence on the part of the elder brother had gotten little more than a raised eyebrow in response.  Sam, unlike Dean, knew when to give up and had hauled Dean back up front and all but crammed him into the driver’s seat.  After all, it was perfectly clear that this was a fight they were not going to win.  At first, Dean had responded to this defeat by cranking his music to deafening levels, but when the agent’s only response had been to sing along – badly – he had finally given up.  At which point Sam had turned the music down and the interrogation had begun.  Not that Coulson hadn’t expected it.  He had put himself in the perfect position to play captive stool pigeon, after all, and it was obvious the brothers had no love for the government or anything like them.  Or anyone who wasn’t family, really, if their files were anything to go by, and why should they?

By the time they reached the tunnel to enter Manhattan, after only one stop so that they could switch drivers, things were going a bit more smoothly.  He figured he must have been giving them the answers they were looking for to their questions, as they had relaxed quite a bit.  And, he reminded himself, his arm still stung sharply where he had submitted to being cut with a silver dagger to prove he wasn’t a shifter or anything else of supernatural origin.  He thought Dean may have been a bit over-eager, but he had endured worse.  Far, far worse.

All the same, he was still smug at the look on Dean’s face when they came into view of the tower.  “ _That’s_ where we’re going?”

“Dean, do you seriously not watch the news?” Sam quipped.  “It’s Stark Tower.  Everyone who even pretends to keep up with the times knows who Tony Stark is.  He’s practically been the news for two years now.”

“Hey, Sasquatch, techie news is not relevant to hunting.  Just in case you didn’t notice, we had an Apocalypse on our hands,” Dean fired back, clearly not put off by Sam’s insults.

“You’ll want that entrance,” Coulson said helpfully, leaning forward to point at where the S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV ahead of them was turning.  “There’s an underground parking garage now.”

Dean turned to level him with a threatening look.  “Just so we’re clear, anything happens to my baby, I’m holding you responsible.”

Phil merely raised an eyebrow.  “The only thing likely to happen to your car is Tony.”

There wasn’t time for Dean to respond to that, however, before they were parked and being ushered out of the car and into an elevator.  Coulson stepped in, then stared at them until they followed, Dean looking uneasy as the doors closed behind them with a whoosh.  The small man had yet to press any buttons.  Instead, he was staring up at the ceiling as though expecting it to do something.

“Phil Coulson with new team members Dean and Samuel Winchester,” he stated clearly.  “JARVIS, if you would kindly take us to the main living floor.”

“Yes, sir, Agent,” a voice replied and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin.  “Shall I inform Master Stark of your arrival?”

“Do that. It might get him out of his lab,” Phil replied.

Dean was looking back and forth between Sam and Coulson as though trying to decide who to demand answers from first.  After about ten seconds’ deliberation he seemed to settle on the unassuming agent.  Probably because of the infuriatingly knowing smirk.  “Ok, what’s with HAL 9000 up there? Is this thing safe?”

“If I may say so,” the polite, disembodied, British voice cut across the conversation, “my designation is not HAL.  HAL is short for Heuristically programmed ALgorithmic computer.  I am JARVIS, Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, the Stark Tower house AI.  I am an artificial intelligence system designed and built by Master Stark.”

Dean stared up at the ceiling in disbelief, hand tightening on the strap of the duffle bag slung over his shoulder.  Phil didn’t bother to hide his amusement at the reaction.  “He gets his snark from his dad.”

The very short remainder of the elevator ride was spent in silence as Sam and Dean wordlessly took stock of their situation.  They were squarely outside of their comfort zone, especially Dean, rubbing elbows with high tech and high society.  Neither of them was entirely certain how to deal with something of this magnitude.  For as practiced as they were at spotting bullshit, Tony Stark had been dealing with media vultures his whole life and could probably smell fakeness a mile off.  And given that Agent Coulson seemed to have their entire lives neatly outlined in government issued manila folders, including all of their deaths and resurrections, there was probably no sense trying to fake anything anyway.  Somehow Dean felt uncomfortably exposed going into this without some sort of credentials to wave around and convince people to trust him.  No costume, no fake name, no burner phone.  This was all him.  This was all Sam.  This was all real, and it was one of the first times that had happened with people who weren’t hunters.

When they reached what the brothers assumed was their destination, Phil let them out of the elevator first before following at a small distance.  It wasn’t what either of them had expected.  Far from neutral territory, this appeared to be someone’s living room.  Someone’s very posh, ultramodern living room, but still a living room.  A den, really.  There was a kitchen at the far end of the room and a long dining table.  All up to the second modern, sleek and outfitted with the latest gadgetry imaginable – and some that boggled the imagination – and all of it quietly oozed wealth.  But as they looked around there were small things that seemed at once at odds with and yet very much at home in the room.  That made it a home.  A dartboard in the corner, a knitted blanket slung over the back of one end of the couch, an easel and several brightly colored, hand stitched cushions along the floor to ceiling windows, a book too worn for the cover to be identifiable left open on the coffee table.  Signs of life.

Just when Sam was preparing to ask Agent Coulson where whoever they were clearly supposed to be meeting was, three men emerged from a hallway that led off to one side.  There appeared to be some sort of disagreement going on.  This was confirmed as they got closer and snippets of their conversation drifted across the open space.

“Isn’t this why you have a calendar?” the blond man was asking.  Dean knew he had seen that face somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place it.  “I got you a planner.  After the fifth time Pepper was here last month about missed appointments.”

“You seem to miss that I miss those on purpose,” the smallest of the men replied.  “They’re boring.  I have better things to do.  I made her CEO for a reason.  She’s much better at dealing with these things than I am.  And yes, I remember the planner, but it’s paper, Steve.  Paper doesn’t integrate into the house system.  So even if I put things in it I’d never remember.”

“It’s _your_ tower,” the bespectacled man prodded.  “I’m inclined to agree with Steve on this one.  JARVIS, set a notice to remind Tony to update and _check_ his virtual planner.”

“Yes, sir,” the system responded cheerfully.

“Traitors.  The lot of you,” the small, goateed man grumbled.  “Especially you, JARVIS.  I build you and this is how you repay me?”

“They’re here already.”  The blond man made a small gesture and the other two turned to look at the brothers standing in front of the elevators with the agent behind them.  Dean swore he could recognize the voice as well. He didn’t have long to ponder it, though, as the blond man strode over and extended a hand.  “You must be Dean and Samuel.  Captain Steve Rogers.”

“What happened to ‘it’s your tower, Tony’?”  The goateed man had caught up, with the bespectacled man trailing just behind him.  He examined his grease stained hands, wiping them on his equally grease stained clothes before finally seeming to decide against offering a handshake.  “Tony Stark.  I know you’re the Winchesters.  Phil here was bringing you guys.  Which one’s which?”

“Sam Winchester,” Sam offered, holding out a hand.  “Pleased to meet you Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers.”

“Tony, please,” Tony interjected.  “Only the media calls me Mr. Stark.”

“Dean,” Dean said, shaking Steve’s proffered hand.

“Bruce Banner,” the bespectacled man said, offering a hand rather hesitantly.

“Do you two have anything else?” Steve asked, eyeing their bags.

Sam shook his head. “We travel light.”

“I can show you where your rooms are if you want,” Tony offered.  

 

Once they’d settled into the suite they’d share – Phil and Pepper had collaborated on housing the new recruits in Avengers née Stark Tower and it had been decided the best course of action was not to separate the brothers – Phil gave them the grand tour.  Once they made the circuit through the S.H.I.E.L.D. field office, the gym, the firing ranges, the study, and a couple of other rooms, they arrived back in the large, open living space.  This time, however, the room was occupied when they arrived.  Not by the three men they had met earlier, though.  Instead, a massive blond in a black t-shirt was standing at the island in the kitchen, gesturing broadly, a pot of coffee in one hand, seemingly trying to explain its merits to the skeptical looking man in the green and black tunic and trousers across from him.  He was tall and thin with a regal air about him, his long, black hair slicked back and his tired, green eyes fixed on the man standing before him.  His long, pale fingers skimmed the shining surface of a huge, curled metal horn that protruded from a helmet sitting next to his chair with just a bit too much care to be casual.  Sam knew he’d seen images of that helmet before somewhere.  And then it clicked.

“You didn’t mention _that_ when you asked us to come here!” he exclaimed to Coulson.

The tall man froze, tension coiling into the stiff line of his shoulders, fingers seizing around the horn just for a moment.  When he turned to look at them, it was with a decidedly superior expression that didn’t match his brief flash of body language at all.  “That’s rather unkind of you.”

Dean, however, merely looked confused.  “What’s wrong, Sammy?”

“Dean, that’s _Loki_.  You know, Norse God of Mischief?  The real one.  He’s a trickster, Dean.   _The_ Trickster,” replied Sam.  “Bad news.  He’s the reason the Avengers were assembled the first time.”

The slender man huffed derisively.  “I prefer the term wordsmith, if you don’t mind.  Trickster’s a bit derogatory.”

This was overshadowed, however, by the hulking blond darting around the island to stand just in front of the still-seated Trickster God.  “How dare you speak ill of my brother!”

Brother… That meant this was –

“Thor,” Loki warned, placing a hand on his brother’s arm.  “What have you learned about seeking conflict?  Allow them to explain their actions and let me be their judge.  I am not a child anymore.”

Shit.  Sam could say with certainty that he would rather face the wrath of Thor than the vengeance of Loki.  Gabriel had been bad enough, so the real thing was guaranteed to be a thousand times worse.  What had he gotten them into?

“I’m still a bit confused,” Dean interjected while Sam was still attempting to think of an argument against killing them or turning them into wolves or something equally horrible.  “Who exactly are you?”

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam hissed, elbowing his brother in the ribs.  This was not going to help their case.  

To his amazement, however, Thor seemed to soften a bit.  “I am Thor Odinson.  This is my brother, Loki Laufeyson.  We are the princes of Asgard.  Your companion was correct.  We were once worshiped by the inhabitants of this realm as the God of Thunder and the God of Mischief.”

Dean grinned, giving Sam a hard stare that practically screamed _go with my plan_.  “Real, live gods!  Look at that, Sammy!  I am Dean Winchester and this is my brother Sam Winchester.  We’re hunters.  We hunt demons and ghosts, mostly.  Anything that turns nasty.  Never met a god before, though.  Well, not in a friendly…  Look, I apologize for my brother.  He didn’t mean anything by it.  It’s just usually if we’ve heard of it and it really exists, it’s bad news.”

Thor beamed, apparently appeased.  Behind him, Loki cracked a small grin, but before Sam had time to wonder whether or not that was a good thing, Coulson was stepping in to remind all present that there would be a briefing shortly and they should be ready for it in whatever way they felt necessary.

 

*****

 

Half an hour’s time found Bruce sitting on the bed they shared most nights as Steve stood rooted in what seemed to have become his permanent place in any room, in front of the large windows looking out over the city, discussing the newest recruits while they waited for Tony to clean up properly.  Steve had herded him into a shower largely against his will, citing the oil in his hair to match the grease on his clothes, and their two most recent guests were downstairs with Phil, getting the grand tour.  Tony would have preferred to do it himself, since it was his tower, but he had JARVIS overseeing things and he supposed that would suffice.  Dean seemed as skittish about the AI as Clint, Tony noted with no small amount of glee.  There were just certain people who were very, very bothered by the idea of a disembodied intelligence being present at all times and able to watch them and listen to their conversations.  Really, what it boiled down to, was that there were three types of people in the tower: the people like him who lived and breathed tech, the people like Bruce who were at home with it when it was convenient but could leave it when it wasn’t, and people like Clint who were afraid of a full scale robot uprising.  That last group was the most fun to toy with.

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted his plotting.  “There seems to be a vehicle of some sort parked in the living room.”

“What?”  Because really, _what_?  Tony had seen some strange things in his time.  Some of them he had created and others hadn’t even been of this world, but nothing should have been able to bypass JARVIS’s security systems and simply park itself in his living room.  Nothing short of simply teleporting in could have done that.  He made a mental note to correct that flaw.

“It appears to be a police public call box, English in origin, circa nineteen sixty,” Jarvis answered.

Bruce and Steve donned matching expressions of skepticism and expectance as Tony burst back into the room, still dripping water, and began pulling things out of the dresser at random.

“Something interesting happen in there?” Bruce asked teasingly.

“You could say that,” Tony countered, pulling on a pair of jeans.  “If by interesting you mean there’s a British police box parked in the living room and JARVIS has no idea how it got there, then I’d say definitely.”

“ _What?_ ” Steve asked sharply.

“It appears to be some sort of craft,” JARVIS supplied helpfully.  “I believe more of the team may have arrived.  It simply appeared in the main living room approximately five minutes ago.”

“Let’s go,” Tony said as he pulled a worn out AC/DC shirt over his head, the glow of the arc reactor mostly disappearing behind the dark fabric.

 

*****

 

“Nice,” Jack commented as he strode out into the room like he owned the place.  “I like it.  Very twenty second century.  It’s actually sort of quaint.”

Behind him, the other travelers poured out of the T.A.R.D.I.S. and into the main living room of Avengers Tower.  The room struck Donna as the sort of thing one would see in the poshest part of London.  It looked to Ianto like half the things in it may have been rescued from the Torchwood vaults, including its current occupants.  To the Doctor it just seemed flashy and overdone.  There was nothing wrong with simplicity and a few wires showing.  But the more pressing matter than what he thought of the décor was what to do about the two large men on the far side of the room who were looking quite threatening.  One held aloft a huge hammer carved with intricate runes and knot-work while the other was dressed head to toe in black and green leather armor that shone bronze in various key places and was finished off with a massive, horned helmet.  

“State your intent!” the one with the hammer ordered.

“It’s alright,” the Doctor assured, slowly making his way over with his hands raised palm outward at shoulder height.  “We’re part of the team.  I’m the Doctor.  This is Donna Noble, my companion.  And this is Captain Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones of Torchwood Three.  And you are?”

The taller man in the armor blanched at the names, but while his posture became slightly more defensive, his armor simply melted away, leaving him in a black and green tunic.  The blond, meanwhile, put down his hammer with a solid clunk against the floor.  “My name is Thor Odinson.  This is my brother, Loki Laufeyson.  We are the princes of Asgard.  Your name sounds familiar, friend, but I do not recall your face.  Have we met before?”

The Doctor just grinned, offering a hand.  “We haven’t.  Well, I haven’t met you.  Time-traveler, though.  Sometimes things don’t happen in the right order.  It’s all a bit wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey.  It’s very good to meet you.”

With an appraising look, Thor took the Doctor’s hand and clasped it firmly before moving to greet the rest of the TARDIS’s crew.  Loki, however, merely studied the offered hand but did not take it.  “I remember your visit,” he intoned softly in the halting way of someone retelling something long past and half forgotten.  “It was many years ago, when Thor and I were but children.  You came to Asgard with a lady friend and a different face.  You were kind.  But if that was your future, then this was the past for that version of you.  You must have known –”

“Spoilers, I’m afraid,” the Doctor cut him off with a sad, apologetic smile.  His disregarded hand found its way into one of the pockets of his long overcoat.  “But I assure you, I am an impeccable judge of character.”

Loki’s only reply was a raised eyebrow before Tony came striding into the room, still slightly damp, with Bruce and Steve in tow.  Quietly, Loki retreated a few steps, moving himself away from the group.  Thor, meanwhile, stayed where he was between Donna and Jack.

“Whose is this, what is it, and how did it get in my living room?” he demanded, pointing at the police box.  

“That would be mine,” the Doctor answered, stepping out of the gathering crowd.  “She’s my ship.  She’s called the TARDIS.  It stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space.  And I landed her here.  Wasn’t really sure where to put her down.  The Director just gave me the space-time coordinates, not landing instructions.”

Tony looked somewhere between furious and exasperated at the declaration that the ship in his living room was, apparently, Fury’s fault.  There were, though, other questions.  “That is a space ship?”

“Yes,” the Doctor replied.  “And a time ship.  Time and space.”

“It looks like a police box,” Tony countered.  “How do you all even fit in there?”

“Yes, well, her chameleon circuit’s broken, I’m afraid,” the Doctor explained.  “And she’s bigger on the inside.  Takes more physics to explain it than we probably have time for right now, though.  I’m the Doctor, by the way.  This my crew. Donna Noble, my companion.  Captain Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones of Torchwood Three.  Nick probably told you we were coming.”

“I still want to know how you got that ship in my living room,” Tony asserted. “I have the best security on the planet.  You shouldn’t have been able to get that in here without my systems knowing about it.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the blond man behind him offered, stepping slightly in front of the angry genius.  “I’m Captain Steve Rogers.”

“Hi there,” Jack grinned, shaking Steve’s proffered hand.

Donna gave him a once over before adding, “It’s _very_ nice to meet you.”

Ianto just rolled his eyes and shook the man’s hand. “Ianto Jones. Nice to meet you.”

When finally introductions had been made, flirtations had been brought to a screeching halt, and everyone was shown to their respective suites, there came the matter of removing the TARDIS from the living room.  There was, however, some disagreement on where she should be parked.  Tony argued for the garage where he stored what of his collection of suits and cars did not currently reside at the Malibu house.  It’d be safe there, he argued, as well as out of the way.  The Doctor, though, wanted to park her in his room.  In fact, he went so far as to say that he didn’t actually need a room, as he could just sleep on board the ship.  It took Tony seeing the inside to understand why.  

The TARDIS still ended up parked in the garage and the Doctor still had a suite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nothing much else happened all the rest of that night." 
> 
> (Something Wicked This Way Comes, in case you're wondering. That's a whole chapter and I feel like it could have been this chapter, too.)
> 
> No, but really. This thing has been a bear. Comes with replacing essential cast members after you've started working. So not a whole lot happens this chapter. There's just an entire chapter dedicated to introducing people to one another and moving them about the set. And it took almost a year to write. I'm kind of a bit discouraged by that. Then again, the hard part is out of the way now and this has direction. So it should move smoother. I'm hoping.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been reposted as of 6/19/2013. I didn't like the original cast and decided to rewrite it. I kept trying to write the Tenth Doctor instead of the Eleventh Doctor. And I like Donna much better than Amy and Rory. Plus I think she'll play off the rest of the cast better. And I also moved some locations around and just generally overhauled everything. Because the more I tried to continue the original the more I hated it. And that wasn't working.


End file.
